Tristan tapped his pen on his desk, his eyes darting across the room in search of a missing brunette. He nervously looked at the door, then the couple of desks behind him where he was supposed to be, knowing he wasn't there. He stared at his paper for a second, studying the French question one more time. The only thing he could speak of that had to do with love at the moment was Miles. Tristan scribbled down a couple of answers, trying to think of an excuse for suddenly leaving. Sorry, Miss whatever your name is, I have to leave because I'm worried that my impulsive boyfriend who continuously distances himself from everyone will end up doing something ridiculously stupid.
Tristan shook his head, trying to dismiss the thoughts. Why are you so worried? He asked himself time and time again but he knew the answer all too well. Miles is vulnerable, unpredictable and impulsive when he's stressed, and it's not like Tristan doesn't care about him. Aw screw it, Tristan took one last glance at the clock before rushing out of the classroom and to the Hollingsworth mansion.
Miles was in his room, his eyes red and vision hazy. He looked down at the joint in his hand, and the smoke in the air. The tear stains on his cheeks were clear as day as he brought the joint to his lips, sucking in and feeling his surroundings fade. He smirked to himself, feeling the smoke hit the back of his throat. The familiar taste filled his mouth as he breathed out all of his thoughts. Miles let his head hit his pillow, feeling the high hit him. He was too good to you. You should be glad he gave you your time while he did. Miles's insecurities crept up on him again. He tried as hard as he could to stop all of the pain, but he couldn't repress everything. He could barely hear the footsteps heading towards his room. He looked down at the glass bottles in front of him, one empty and the other half-filled with gin. He was nearly completely grounded from his high when he heard a familiar, comforting voice coming from the other end of the door.
"Miles. Are you in here?" Tristan's soft voice asked, knocking on the door. It took Miles no time at all to spring up from his bed and open it. Tristan could smell the alcohol on his breath as he spoke.
"Why?" Miles choked out, looking at the blonde, trying not to let his emotions overcome him. "I see you still haven't broken old habits of crawling back to me." He said in a low voice, trying not to let it crack.
Tristan glared at Miles, trying not to lose it. He looked down when Miles's eyes found his. "I was worried. I thought I should come see you... Guess I can-"
"Don't go." Miles blurted out, cutting Tristan off. His stomach churned as he grabbed Tristan's hand, gripping for dear life. Tristan stared down at their hands for a second, debating whether or not he should rip his hand away or pull Miles closer. Instead, he just stayed still.
"What can I do, Tristan? I want things to be right again. I-I can't stand being away from you without losing it. You're the only person who takes the time to understand me... When I thought you'd left me for good I didn't know what to do. Please..." Tristan was speechless, trying to catch the words in his throat was useless at this point. His thoughts were all scrambled as he felt Miles's hand squeeze a little harder, making sure he was still right beside him.
"Just because I'm staying does not mean I forgive you." Tristan scoffed, letting go of Miles's hand. Miles felt his lips curl into a nervous smirk. Tris could obviously see how much of a mess Miles was. He stared at the glass bottle on the bed, trying to focus on something else as he thought.
Miles looked down nervously as he fumbled with his hands. "Look, Tristan..." He finally said after what seemed like centuries, but was only minutes. "I wasn't thinking-"
"What's your problem?" Tristan snapped, realizing how wrongly his words had come out. "I can only handle so much. Miles, you've been swaying me back and forth for so long. I don't know what you want." His voice softened as he looked into the brunette's eyes. The room fell silent again as Miles tried to respond but he couldn't.
"If being caught up in the tornado of my life hurts you so much why can't you just leave?" I want you to care, I just don't want you to hurt. Over me.
Well saying things like that certainly doesn't help. I'm already in too deep, I can't stop myself from falling now. "Because Miles. I care about you. I don't know why but I end up pushing you away whenever I try to show it. You're asking me to stay, then you're asking me to go. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do here."
"You're not pushing me away. You're pulling me in." And I'm scared.
"If I'm pulling you in, why do you distance yourself from me?" The blonde's voice softened.
"I just don't want you to end up getting hurt..."
"Really, Miles? I'm hurt because I know you're hiding something. It hurts more worrying about you."
Miles bit his bottom lip, sighing. It was then he heard a loud slam of his heavy front door, and loud, angry marching. Tristan saw the fear and panic flood Miles's eyes nearly instantly as Miles scrambled to hide his stash and the glass bottles, picking up any other piece of evidence that he was doing anything in his room.
"Miles!" He heard his father's voice boom through the house.
"You have to go, Tris. Please..." Miles begged as he heard the creaking of the steps that lead up to his room.
Miles looked terrified, his fists clenching as he thought about what he could do. "No way in hell!" Tristan stubbornly stated, crossing his arms.
"Please, Tristan." Miles, the boy who was once so interested in pissing his father off, was now acting like a timid puppy, his face flushed with worry.
Tristan knew he couldn't leave. Instead, he slipped out of the room, into the next room on the right.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Frankie yelled at the blonde, half naked.
"I-I'm so sorry... I can explain." Tristan apologized sheepishly, facing the door. Frankie rolled her eyes, pulling on a clean shirt quickly.
"Alright. Now, what are y-"
"Shhh!" Tristan turned to her, putting a finger over his lips. He pressed his ear to the door, hearing muffled, angry voices battling each other.
"Tristan, they fight all the time. Nothing to worry-"
He shushed her a second time, only this time to hear clattering of something—or someone—against the wall. His stomach churned when he heard a glass bottle break.
"I'll explain later." Tristan said in a panic, rushing out of Frankie's door.
Writer's shit: So I wrote another one, and THIS one I actually plan on dragging out. The inspiration for this one hit me a while ago. (It's mostly Miles's problems right now, but it WILL get to Tristan (unlike the show...) after some serious angst.) I'm sorry for character breaks and my shitty writing lel. FAIR WARNING: If you have abuse triggers, I suggest you don't read beyond this point.